


Girl Genius

by Neeks



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Boss/Employee Relationship, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fem!Spencer Reid, Female Spencer Reid (Criminal Minds), Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Genius Spencer Reid, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Relationship, Protective Aaron Hotchner, Sad Spencer Reid, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Social Anxiety, Team as Family, always a girl!Spencer, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24497938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neeks/pseuds/Neeks
Summary: Dr. Spencer Reid was well-known, as a result of both her intelligence and youth. However, the expectations that come with her reputation as the baby genius of the BAU are slowly suffocating her. How will she handle everything that is to come?
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid
Comments: 26
Kudos: 161





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! Basically, I'm both in love with, and simultaneously want to be Spencer, so yeah. I really just needed to get this thought out of my head, and I figured that writing would be the best way to do it. It kind of evolved as I was starting, and now I'm realizing that this is definitely going to be a multi-chapter endeavor, so stay tuned for more if you're interested. This is my first fanfic, so I'm open to any suggestions or constructive criticism you are willing to give! Also, I know that I'm kind of fudging the timing and certain scenes of the show, but it's (mostly) intentional, so I hope that's not offensive!
> 
> Note: I do not own, nor claim to own any aspect of Criminal Minds! This is simply where my head goes after watching the show because I am slightly insane haha.

It was crowded, warm, and entirely too loud in the restaurant. The members of BAU sat at a round table, not unlike the one in their conference room, though instead of being littered with case files, this table was covered in different plates of Mexican food. It had been a rough couple of days at the office, the team had been working a tough case that seemed to hit everyone harder than usual, so they had gone out to dinner to relax at least a little bit before the next one.

Peals of laughter rang out as the Gideon finished a retelling of an incident involving an unfortunate slip of the tongue at a lecture. Though, the tone of the laughter changed as soon as Spencer almost fall out of her chair. She was already off kilter because of how tired she was, and her laughing had definitely not helped matters.

“You good over there Wonder Kid?” Morgan asked, still laughing at the display of her characteristic clumsiness.

Spencer flushed, and tried to divert attention away from her almost-fall by spitting out some random factoid, “Did you know that although some falls do occur from a seated position, most are free falls, with falls resulting in more than 2.8 million injuries treated in emergency departments annually, including over 800,000 hospitalizations and more than 27,000 deaths?”

They all gave her that look of disbelief that she often got in response to her seemingly endless vault of random knowledge. The length of time for which they sustained those looks had shortened, as they had gotten to know Spencer and her particularities over the year or so that she had been working with the BAU, but they still looked. Flustered, she hunched her shoulders just a little bit more, subconsciously trying to make herself look less noticeable.

Eventually, the conversation broke off into smaller groups, with Gideon talking to Elle and JJ about some bird watching he wanted to do, Garcia and Morgan engaging in their customary flirty banter, with Hotch listening on in amusement. Spencer sat in the middle of all of this, observing her team.

They had all come straight from the office, but somehow, almost all of them managed to look nice. Spencer herself however looked like a wreck, with her long curly hair wrapped in an even messier bun than usual. She was dressed in her normal attire, some slim fitting slacks, cuffed around the ankles, a white button down under a sweater vest, the whole ensemble topped off by a rumpled sport coat, and black Converse on her mismatched sock-clad feet in varying shades of purple. She was not wearing any makeup, lip balm didn’t count, though the circles around her eyes were dark enough to look like someone had smeared black eyeshadow on her face.

Dr. Spencer Reid looked like she was going to keel over, for real this time, and she felt like it too. She was so tired, which was warranted given that she had not gotten any meaningful sleep for the past 36 hours, but she did not understand how everyone else looked fine. Logically, Spencer knew that the rest of the team was likely just as tired as she was, though they might have managed to get more sleep than she had.

“Hey, Pretty Girl, what’re your plans for the weekend?” Morgan’s voice broke her out of her reverie. While she was thinking, she had not noticed that everyone had come back together to discuss their individual plans.

“Um, nothing much really planned, I guess. Maybe do some reading and work for the Philosophy doctorate I’m working on.” Reid stuttered out. It was true, she did not have anything important planned, which was not out of the ordinary. The only thing that was out of the ordinary was the firearm qualification test that she would have to take on Monday when they had to go back to the office, something which she was incredibly stressed about.

Hotch smiled ever so slightly in response, and gently said “Make sure you get some rest, yeah?” His arm moved, as if to touch her shoulder, but he stiffened and pulled back, remembering Spencer’s aversion to unnecessary contact. Spencer and Hotch had spent more time than usual together over the last week, as he tried his best to prep her for the exam. Gideon also looked over at Spencer, nodding in agreement with Hotch’s statement. Then, noticing the time, Hotch suddenly exclaimed “Well, I’m planning on spending time much needed time at home with the lovely Mrs. Hotchner. And, on that note, I think it’s time for me to get home to Haley.”

The rest of the team, having finished with their food a while ago, also started voicing that it was time for them to go to their respective late Friday night locations. They were all ready to get started with their weekends. As everyone said their goodbyes and started heading out, Spencer checked her pockets to make sure she had all of her things. She walked out with Penelope; their cars happened to be close to each other. As they stopped by Spencer’s car, Garcia could not help the laugh that escaped her.

“What?” Spencer said, in a slightly offended tone.

“Oh, nothing honey. It’s just, well, your car. It’s definitely unique, not what I would have expected from you.” Penelope bit out, still fighting more laughter.

It wasn’t that Spencer’s car was exceptionally weird or broken down, but it was old, powder blue, and a Volvo. And for some reason, that was absolutely hilarious to Penelope.

“Well, um, I guess I’m going to get going. Drive safely, and uh, have a good weekend?” Spencer said a little shakily, voice lifting at the end and making her statement seem like a question, when really she was just nervous. Penelope smiled at her awkwardness, wished her a good night and weekend, and got into her car to leave.

Once Spencer got into her car, she released a breath that she didn’t know she had been holding in. Her hands braced against the steering wheel, she let her head fall as she took in deep yet shaky breaths, trying to calm herself down. The anxiety wasn’t anything new, but lately, she had been feeling more and more worked up, her hyperactive mind overanalyzing every single thing. It was getting to the point that she was worried about it affecting her work, something which had never bothered her before. She was used to compartmentalization, her mind working overtime to maintain some separation between her private, nervous wreck persona, and her competent yet socially awkward work persona. Now however, she was feeling her barriers fall, and it was scary.

Inhaling one more time, she straightened, and steeled herself for her drive home. The ride was a blur, her instincts taking over as she took the familiar paths home. On autopilot, she walked up to her apartment, unlocked the door, dropped her satchel, and practically collapsed on her couch. Spencer had been running on pure nerves and caffeine for the last few days, and it had taken its toll. That, coupled with her almost-breakdown in the restaurant parking lot were enough to wipe her of all energy and resolve. She felt like she was falling apart, her precious mental walls crumbling under duress.

Gasping for air, as if drowning, her thoughts spiraled. Why was she the only one on the team without plans? Was there something wrong with her? They felt sorry for her, didn’t they, because she was weird, and strange, and incapable of being normal. All she wanted, for once in her life, was to feel normal, and she couldn’t even pretend that she knew how to do that. No matter how many books she read on human behavior, or how many degrees she accumulated, she would never be able to learn how to fit in, and that hurt. A heaving sob escaped.

Head in her hands, Spencer threaded her fingers through her hair, pulling against her scalp. It was a habit she had developed when she was younger, tugging on the curls was therapeutic in a sense, and the pain forced her mind back into focus. Desperately, she tried to ground herself, but it was no use. She was fighting a losing battle, against her own mind, and it was destroying her. Logically, Spencer knew this whole episode was irrational, but somehow, that didn’t help her stop, and only furthered her doubts.

She fell asleep on the couch around 2 in the morning, after “reading” various pieces of classical literature in her head to calm herself down. It was a restless sleep, the kind that leaves you feeling even more exhausted when you wake up, but it was a familiar sleep. That kind of sleep was pretty much the only kind Spencer got these days, and she had learned to live with it.

Later, when she woke up with a crick in her neck, bleary eyes, and in the same clothes that she had worn the previous day, she sighed. After making herself some coffee and taking a quick shower, she sat down, and got to work.

The rest of her weekend went by in a haze. She read some books, ate some food (though most would say not enough) when she remembered to, and drank more coffee than was probably healthy. Going into the office on Monday was not something she was looking forward to, her enjoyment of her work overshadowed by the looming presence of the gun qualification exam that she was due to take. She coped with this anxiety, though coping is probably too strong a word for what she was doing, by burying herself in work for her newest doctorate, and reading whatever interesting texts she could get her hands on.

When Monday finally arrived, it brought with it fear and relief simultaneously. Fear of her gun qualification, and relief from what she felt was her meaningless existence outside of work. She got to the shooting range early, nerves spurring her to move faster. Hotch had tutored her in advance, his words and gazes colder and sterner than normal, as he gave her instructions. She understood the theory perfectly, knew how the gun worked and at what velocity the bullet flew. Hell, she could calculate its trajectory as it shot through the air. Yet, for all her knowledge, Spencer had never been able to achieve even average level of marksmanship, much less a level that would allow her to pass her qualification.

Hotch had figured out that it was some sort of mental block stopping her, not a lack of understanding or ability. However, he doubted that Spencer had come to the same conclusion and knew that he wouldn’t be able to do anything for her unless she realized that she was the only thing getting in her way.

As both she and Hotch had predicted, albeit for different reasons, Spencer’s subpar aim coupled with her shaky hands lead her to fail her qualification, meaning she couldn’t even carry a gun anymore. How was she supposed to be an FBI agent without a gun? Already lacking in an intimidating appearance, not having a gun made her look like some random college student who shouldn’t be at a crime scene.

Spencer took the elevator and slowly started towards the bullpen, knowing that everyone likely already knew about her failure. She threaded her fingers together, fiddling with her thumbs and lightly picking at her skin as she thought about what everyone would say. She already knew that they would be able to tell how upset she was, working in an office of profilers was definitely more of a curse than a blessing at times. But, she worried about their specific reactions. What if they didn’t want her in the field with them? She figured that Hotch would be disappointed, especially because he had spent all that time on the range with her, and she had still blown it.

She grasped the strap of her satchel tightly, the feeling of worn leather somewhat comforting, but not easing her nerves entirely. Walking briskly, she gazed at the floor right in front of her, in an effort to avoid unnecessary eye contact. Hotch had said that Gideon had told him that “you don’t have to carry a gun in order to kill someone” when he had joined the BAU, but Spencer hadn’t understood it then, and she didn’t understand it now. Hell, how was she supposed to believe that when Hotch carried two guns with him at all time?

Sitting at her desk, she felt so awkward. Everyone was sneaking glances at her when they thought she wouldn’t notice, with Elle staring openly. Morgan hadn’t helped matters when he came by and made his jokes, leaving her a freaking whistle of all things as the punchline. She did her best to remain unaffected, but all she wanted to do was cry. Instead of allowing herself to succumb to emotion, she busied herself with the mountain of paperwork stacked on her desk, a couple of unfamiliar files on top, courtesy of Morgan. Speeding through the files, she allowed herself to get lost in the familiar, if not repetitive motions of filling out the forms. Eventually, after getting through about half of the stack on her desk, she yawned and decided it was time for some crappy office coffee.

After dumping what she deemed the appropriate amount of sugar into her drink, she heard JJ calling them to the conference room. She stopped by her desk to grab a legal pad and a pen, speed walking to the conference room so that she didn’t hold the team up. Looking at the screens set up at the front of the room, she was reminded of what she had thought at the beginning of the day. This week was going to suck.


	2. Chapter 2

Walking into the conference room, Spencer couldn’t help but keep her eyes firmly trained on the ground. JJ expressed her sympathy in the kindest way, but it only served to make her feel more uncomfortable, and the knowledge that Garcia had sent an email out about her failed exam was even worse. She couldn’t even bring herself to make eye contact with Hotch, although the logical part of her brain knew that he wasn’t upset with her.

Those thoughts were brushed to the wayside when JJ jumped into action, handing out case files and briefing the team on what they were up against. “Okay, Franklin Park, Des Plaines, yesterday afternoon," she said. "Three victims shot at distance. It's the third such shooting in two weeks.”

Elle looked at the files, and frowned. “A sniper?” she questioned.

“We don’t use that word here,” Morgan replied quickly, on autopilot, as if it had been drilled into him (which, to be fair, it had been).

“Why not?”

JJ replied with a slight smirk, “The public perception is that the FBI doesn’t have an exemplary record with snipers.”

“Besides, a sniper is a professional marksman,” Hotch added, frowning at the case file. “These guys aren’t snipers.”

“What do we call ‘em then?” Elle asked.

Hotch answered distractedly, flipping through the file, “L.D.S.K.”

Spencer saw Elle’s slightly frustrated expression. “Long distance serial killers,” she explained.

Still curious, she asked “how many of these guys have we caught using a profile?”

“None,” Gideon said somberly. Spencer startled slightly, she hadn’t even noticed his entrance, and mentally kicked herself for not paying enough attention to her surroundings.

They went over the rest of the case details, but one thing quickly became clear. Because of the lack of witnesses and helpful evidence, the profile was all that they would have to go on. Of course, it was just her luck that they would have a shooter case immediately after she failed her gun qualification. She had obviously read everything there was on L.D.S.K.s, though there wasn’t too much out there, but she had never anticipated encountering one. And now, the team was looking for one.

On the jet, Hotch started going over what they knew about these kinds of killers, with Gideon prompting talk about the most important characteristics of the unsub. Spencer pointed out that “he doesn’t kill his victims.”

“Underkill’s a unique signature,” Gideon stated, clarifying that this is an important aspect of the unsub’s M.O.

“The question is, does he shoot them in the stomach intentionally just to wound them, or is he just aiming at the biggest part of the target? Specifically, does the unsub lack the skill to make the head shot, or simply the will to take it?” Hotch added on Spencer’s observation, and the team realized that this would be one of the most important questions to consider in order to construct a good profile.

Spencer found herself raising her eyebrows in surprise as Hotch spoke, she hadn’t considered that angle, and mentally berated herself for it. Additionally, while she knew that Hotch didn’t do so intentionally, the questioning of the unsub’s potential lack of sniper-level shooting skill reminded her of her own recent failure.

She tried to shove those thoughts back down so that she could focus fully on reviewing the case materials, but she couldn’t help but think that now everyone could more clearly see that she didn’t belong there. Spencer wound her arms tighter around her torso, digging her nails into her sides to snap herself out of it, acutely aware of her proximity to the other members of the team. She didn’t want any of them to notice that she was not completely calm and ready to work, because that add to whatever doubts they inevitably already held about her presence.

The rest of the flight passed quickly and once they landed, the team split up. Spencer, Hotch, and Morgan went to the site of the most recent shooting, while JJ, Elle, and Gideon headed to the hospital to ask about the natures of the victims’ wounds.

Hotch introduced them to Detective Calvin, who, while seemingly unsurprised by the other two agents, looked Spencer up and down with a bit of doubt and contempt in her eyes. Spencer could tell that Calvin did not seem to think of her as qualified, a notion solidified when she questioned Spencer about the importance of knowing if the unsub was a sadist. In fact, she only backed down when Morgan explained and confirmed the validity of Spencer’s statement.

Spencer logically understood that it was not important that she did not appear as intimidating or as experienced as the other members of her team, but it didn’t help her insecurity to be reminded of the fact, especially today. The four of them continued to survey the crime scene, discussing different possibilities, when eventually, Hotch put together the shooter’s possible technique, based on his own knowledge of shooting. He also figured out that the unsub was likely a sociopath, and not a sadist.

That night, they kept working at the precinct to establish more parts of the slowly growing profile. Spencer downed cup after cup of sugar laden coffee, pouring over all the crime scene details and thinking about what they were missing. She barely slept that night, too wired on caffeine and the emotional aftermath of a horrible day.

The next morning, there was yet another shooting, which forced the BAU to give their initial profile to the police earlier than they would have wanted to. Afterwards, while they all worked on figuring out the details of their reenactment of the third shooting, Spencer walked over to Gideon. The emotional part of her was acting again, and she didn’t like it. Everybody else was still working, not seeking comfort from a mentor that was also busy, yet her she was.

“How you holdin’ up?” Gideon questioned, no doubt noting how tense Spencer was.

“Look at me. Without a gun on my belt, I look like a teacher’s assistant.” Spencer replied, pointing out the obvious. Her youthful face and admittedly dorky wardrobe weren’t really doing her any favors.

Gideon, in that special way of his picked up on the fact that her appearance wasn’t what was actually bugging her. “You’re not worried about how you look.”

“Hotch told me that when he came to the BAU, you told him he didn’t need a gun to kill somebody?’ Spencer winced slightly as her voice unintentionally rose at the end, turning her statement into a question.

“Well, the only truly effective weapon we have is our ability to do the one thing they can’t.”

Spencer was still confused. “Which is what?”

Gideon elaborated, “Empathize. They dehumanize their victims. We humanize the killers.”

Their conversation ended soon afterwards, with Spencer unconvinced that this wasn’t just an attempt by Gideon to make her feel better about failing his firearm qualification, and Gideon retorting sharply. Spencer could tell then that this day was going to be just as bad for her mind as the day before had been.

This hypothesis was supported by the reenactment of the shooting quickly going to shit, with the fallout of the afternoon’s events leaving everyone shaken up. The only positive was that Garcia was able to generate a geographic profile, and the team was able to guess that the shootings were cases of hero homicide.

At the hospital, Gideon interrogated Dr. Landman, but although he was a narcissist, he did not seem to be their shooter. Reid ended up following Hotch to the E.R. anyways, to make sure that Landman’s alibi checked out. However, once they got there, it dawned upon them that all the signs pointed to the shooter being an E.R. doctor.

Hotch started grilling one of the female doctors, while police officers began to enter the building. He quickly started giving her parts of the profile, in an effort to get her to think of anyone who might fit. The doctor tried to leave, but he caught her by the arm. “He's in his thirties," he continued. "He's vain, rude, arrogant. He works out. He shows up to work late. He blames others for his mistakes, doesn't take responsibility for his behavior. All of his coworkers detest him.”

“Oh my god,” the doctor gasped softly. “It’s Phillip Dowd. He’s, he picks up shift at Arlington,” she stuttered out.

Quietly, Hotch asked, “is he here today?”

The doctor was panicking. “Oh my god,” she said again, looking around.

Hotch lightly touched her shoulders. “Ok,” he tried to calm her down, “ok, your patients need you calm.”

“Now tell me, is Dowd working today?” he asked again, more sternly. The doctor confirmed, that he was, but she couldn’t see him.

“Go tell Gideon,” Hotch said to Reid.

Spencer started to jog, but Hotch held up a hand and warned her, “Reid, easy.” She latched on to those words and replayed them like a mantra in her head. Her hands were shaking, but she had a job to do. She kept walking, trying to focus on keeping herself collected. She was so distracted that she didn’t notice the man in the lab coat walking in front of her until it was too late. Her eyes focused and she opened her mouth, but he had already pulled out his rifle. He hit Spencer across the jaw.

She went down hard, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe, as she flickered in and out of consciousness. The sharp sounds of gunfire and screams bounced around, and sirens went off as the room was suddenly covered in amber emergency lights.

“Nobody moves, and nobody dies.”

It was Dowd, she was too late. Spencer desperately tried to catch her breath. It was too late, she had failed again. Her mind whirled. Hotch! She suddenly remembered that Hotch was still there, he could do something. The thought calmed her slightly. She knew that her Unit Chief was one of the best, and if anyone could get them out of this, it was him. Spencer slowly moved her head up, trying to see what was going on.

Unfortunately, Dowd noticed Hotch pointing his gun at him, and threatened to start shooting. Hotch let Dowd take his gun, and Spencer’s breath stopped.

Dowd turned. “Get up! Get over here!” He yelled at Spencer. “Double time, lets go!” He barked, as Spencer pushed herself off the ground and started to jog over, her satchel swinging as she held her hands up and hunched her back.

Dowd pointed the rifle at Hotch. “You, take your partner’s gun, put it on the counter.”

“She’s not armed,” Hotch replied coolly. “See for yourself,” he added, noticed Dowd’s disbelief.

“Hands on your heads,” he said, glaring. Reid shakily complied as Dowd approached, doing her best not to react as he poked her with the rifle and checked for the weapon she didn’t have. He grabbed Spencer’s badge, looked at it briefly, and threw it the side.

Spencer could feel herself starting to panic. Exhaling, she violently slammed down her mental walls, doing her best to keep a panic at bay because god knows they didn’t her to have one of those right now.

Dowd had Keith, the security guard zip tie them, and the plastic dug into her skin as Dowd made her kneel on the ground. Hotch was sitting on the counter above and to right of her, and Keith was out cold after Dowd hit him with the butt of his rifle. The other hostages made noises of fear in the background.

“Now, what kind of an FBI agent doesn’t carry a gun?” Dowd asked Spencer in a mocking tone.

Spencer’s eyes welled up with tears despite her frenzied attempts to control herself. “I’m a profiler,” she said, her voice cracking slightly.

“Profiler?” Dowd echoed. “They sent you to figure me out.”

Spencer was unable to stop herself from answering. Her nervous word vomit tick was not helpful in the slightest. “We did. That’s how we found you.”

“Shut up, Reid,” Hotch hissed with vitriol. He had never spoken to her like that. Her head dropped.

Dowd smiled manically and adjusted the rifle. “No, don’t shut up. Tell me what you think you know about me.”

Her mind was in overdrive, thoughts going by at the speed of light, yet she couldn’t find any words. “Go ahead, genius. Tell him,” Hotch said. “Tell him,” he insisted in a condescending tone, “but remember, get it wrong, and he’s gonna kill you.” Spencer looked up at her superior, an unwanted tear sliding down across the bruised planes of her face. His face betrayed nothing, and Reid didn’t know what he was playing at.

Dowd raised his eyebrows. Spencer floundered. She still couldn’t find the words. How ironic, that she, who was always told that she spoke too much and needed to shut up, would die because she suddenly couldn’t string together a sentence.

Dowd turned his attention to Hotch. “Ok. You’re the boss. You tell me. Who am I? What’s my plan?”

Coldly, Hotch said, “I know you shot 11 people in broad daylight and left us nothing, you executed a cop in front of the FBI and got away clean, and I know your plan is to go down in a hail of bullets.”

“What else do you know?”

Hotch continued, “I know you’re the smartest guy in every room you’ve ever been in, and no one’s ever known it.” His voice was flat, emotionless, “People feel threatened by you and try to sabotage you every chance they get. You’re not a bad person.” Spencer’s mind was reeling at his words, and she mulled over them as she tried to even out her breathing and stop her pathetic crying. It was absolutely ridiculous, and never had she hated herself more than in this moment.

Dowd was also surprised. “You help save all of your victims afterwards,” Hotch pressed forwards. “First guy wasn’t your fault. If the EMTs had been there on time, he would’ve lived.”

Why was Hotch antagonizing the unsub? Dowd sneered. “Took those guys thirteen minutes. Thirteen!”

For a second, it was silent. “You want to barricade the door,” Hotch added suddenly.

“What?” Dowd was confused.

“Let me and the kid do it,” Hotch continued. “Let ‘em see that you’ve got two FBI agents in here doing your bidding.”

Dowd tensed. “Right, let you give them a signal.”

“What signal?” Hotch countered. “They knew you were in here. They knew you were armed. What can I tell them?” The sharp planes of his already stern face were thrown into stark relief by the amber emergency lights.

Dowd was suspicious. “What is this, some sort of profiler trick? New negotiation tactic?” he asked, as he moved his rifle so that it was pointed at Hotch’s head. Nobody spoke, and Spencer’s breath hitched yet again.

“No, the barricade’s a good idea, though,” Dowd concluded after some thought. “Now, why would you wanna help me?”

“I don’t,” Hotch said easily.

Dowd made a noise with his tongue. “You said they knew I was in here.”

Spencer noticed Hotch’s jaw strain. “I said they know you’re in here,” he said, almost unnoticeably tripping over his words.

“No. That’s not what you said,” Dowd replied slowly, in a patronizing tone.

“Why does it matter?” Spencer murmured. The blood from her nose dripped down onto her lips, and the sickeningly metallic taste filled her mouth as it touched her tongue.

“It matters because your partner wants to help me even though he doesn’t know it.” The corners of Dowd’s mouth lifted in a perverted imitation of a smile. “Go ahead, boss man, tell him why. If you lie or leave anything out…”

Dowd made a popping noise. Spencer’s eyes widened. Hotch had to have a plan, he had to. Her heart was racing, and she could feel sweat starting to pool on her forehead.

“They knew he was in here, they knew he was armed and dangerous,” Hotch said, almost as if talking to himself, “and they knew that he was gonna fight till the last round, and they sent me in here with an unarmed kid who can’t shoot his way out of a wet paper bag.” He practically spat out the last few words.

Spencer stared out and down. A tendril of curly hair had escaped her low bun, and brushed against her cheek. What was going on? There was no way that this was Hotch’s plan. A new seed of doubt was planted in her mind, and her stomach churned. Was this what he really thought?

“They set you up,” Dowd summarized.

Hotch agreed. “Exactly, and they’re probably laughing about it right now.”

“That’s why you want to help me.”

“I wouldn’t say I want to help you,” Hotch clarified,” but when they come in here to get revenge for the cop you killed, you’re going to go down fighting, and in the crossfire, a lot of as are going to die.” He continued, “They sent me in here. I figure why make it easy for them.” His voice was laced with venom.

“You know why they took away girl genius’ gun?” Hotch asked Dowd. Spencer’s head turned sharply towards Hotch.

“Why?”

She looked away once he started talking, unable to bear the hateful and disappointed glare that she imagined he was directing at her. “She failed her qualification. Twice a year, I gotta listen to her whine about requalifying,” he griped. “So I tutor him… and she fails again.”

Spencer turned her head to the left, burying her nose in her shoulder. The slightly scratchy material of her cardigan brushed against her bruised cheek. Distantly, she recalled that her nose was bleeding, and that she was probably staining the garment forever.

She thought back to all of the time they had spent on the range together. Hotch had been stern but he had never lost his temper with her, even when she had done especially poorly. Had he really felt like this the whole time? She knew she shouldn’t be surprised, she had always thought that he secretly despised her for how incapable she was. But yet, he had never said anything of the sort to her, he was always kind and reassuring.

“You think you got it rough?” Dowd questioned. “These people have done nothing but undermine me since I got here,” he sneered, looking over at the hostages scattered around the E.R.

“Put her next to the barricade,” Hotch suggested, moving his head to gesture at Reid. “That way when they blast our way in here, both of our problems are solved. That sort of thing could ruin a cop’s career.”

Spencer swallowed hard, bile rising in her throat. “You are one sick dude,” Dowd said, almost admiringly.

“How do you think I found you?” Hotch replied. Dowd smirked at this, perhaps pleased to see that there was seemingly someone else like him, who understood what it was like.

“You don’t want to kill innocents,” Hotch said, after a beat of silence. “Let the hostages move out of the way, you can’t save them.”

Dowd considered this for a moment. “Sit up against the walls!” he barked out. “Except for you two of course.” He gestured with his rifle at the two agents. There was a quiet flurry of motion and sound as the rest of the people in the area moved out of the line of fire, fearfully murmuring.

“Can I ask you a favor?” Hotch said, bringing Dowd’s focus back to him.

“You can ask.”

“I figure the chances of my getting out of here alive are pretty slim.” Hotch was impossibly stone-faced.

“So?”

“I want to kick the snot out of this kid,” Hotch said hatefully. Spencer looked up worriedly, brows furrowing as her traitorous eyes filled with tears again. “She’s made my life miserable for three lousy years.”

Spencer glanced at Dowd and back at Hotch, her mind whirring as she tried to make sense of what was going on. She blinked, as it clicked into place. Hotch had convinced Dowd to move the innocents out of her line of fire.

Dowd mulled over the request. Deeming it harmless, he acquiesced. “Go ahead. Knock yourself out.”

The cruel irony of his words didn’t escape Spencer, who tried to steel herself for what was to come. Hotch pushed her to the floor hard. Instinctively, her arms flew up to cover her face as the first blow knocked all of the air out of her lungs.

Hotch’s foot connected sharply with her ribs, over and over again. “How smart are you now, smart guy?” He shouted. Tears fell unbidden from Spencer’s eyes. She knew what he wanted her to do, but oh god did it hurt.

“It’s front sight, trigger press, follow through!” Hotch was reminding her of what to do, disguising it as a hateful rant. “It’s not that hard! A dalmatian could do it!” He continued, as he placed his right leg near Spencer’s face, the ankle holster so close yet so far from her bound hands.

Spencer managed to get a grip on his ankle, as she moaned involuntarily from the pain in her sides. Somehow, the Glock was in her hands. “Let go! Let go!” Hotch pushed her curled body away, and she rolled so that her back was facing Dowd.

She felt his glare on them as she tried to get a grip on the pistol while keeping her hands hidden. As she coughed, Dowd looked at Hotch. “Feel better?”

“I think he got the message.” There, that was the confirmation Spencer needed. This was Hotch’s plan. Dowd chuckled, but his amusement quickly faded as he noticed the empty holster now exposed by the pant leg that Spencer had pushed up to access the gun.

“What’s that?”

He put two and two together a moment too late. Spencer rolled over, as Dowd aimed at Hotch.

Front sight.

Trigger press.

Follow through.

She didn’t hear the bullet leave the gun. A dot formed in the center of Dowd’s forehead, and his body seized as he went down.

Voices shouted in the hallway. “Federal agent!” Hotch yelled at the top of his lungs. “Federal agent, hold your fire!” He shouted as he opened the door. “It’s all clear.”

Spencer was frozen on the floor, still gripping the gun like a lifeline. She couldn’t see, everything was blurry. Maybe her crying had messed up her contacts?

Hotch lead SWAT into the E.R. with the rest of the BAU hot on their heels. Somehow he had managed to break his zip ties off in the commotion. While the police and SWAT dealt with the hostages, he rushed back to Spencer.

Kneeling on the floor next to her, he asked for someone to cut the ties off of her. Wordlessly, Morgan handed him a pocketknife which he used to make quick work of the restraints.

Spencer was in a daze. She saw figures above her, Hotch’s angular outline most prominently in the foreground as voices floated through the air.

“What happened?”

“Who killed Dowd?”

“Are you hurt?”

The words swam in and out of her ears, and her head spun. Distractedly, she noticed that all the kicking and rolling had destroyed the tenuous hold her hair tie had on her mane. Her thick hair was splayed around her and half covered her face, as her short gasps caused some of the strands to flutter over her face.

Large, warm hands gently brushed the escaped curls back before tenderly helping her get to her feet. Somehow, she recognized that the hands belonged to Hotch, as his strong arms enveloped her. He practically dragged her out of there, the rest of the team exchanging worried glances behind them.

Spencer let out a long, stuttering, exhale. They had made it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that it took me so long to update, but hopefully the fact that this is a longer one will make up for it? Hoping to update soon, but as we all know, the world is on fire and everything is insane right now, so I don't know what soon will look like. 
> 
> L.D.S.K. is, IMO one of the best episodes of CM, especially in the first few seasons. I especially love what it does in regards to Reid's character and his relationships with the rest of the team, so I knew that I had to write about it. I hope that I managed to do it justice, although the sheer amount of dialogue was definitely a struggle. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter (although it is angsty) and please let me know if you have any suggestions or critiques! Lots of love, and stay safe! :)
> 
> Also, it is actually possible to break out of zip ties pretty easily with a quick maneuver. You never know when it could be useful, so I recommend looking it up! I'm assuming that Hotch knew it, but wanted to wait until Dowd couldn't kill him or Spencer for doing it, so that explains the miraculous disappearance of the ties once he goes back into the E.R. for Spencer.


	3. Chapter 3

Spencer leaned back against the ambulance where she had been forcibly dragged by Hotch. He had situated her there, promising to return as soon as he took care of some things. Her arms were wrapped around her midsection tightly, as she tried to steel herself against the pain in her stomach and pull herself together before more people could see her.

It was dark outside, and her contacts had been dislodged because of her earlier crying, so she could hardly discern what was going on. Sound surrounded her, voices discussing what had happened, and what to do next. She blinked twice as two medics wheeled something covered in a white sheet out.

Oh.

She exhaled sharply as Philip Dowd’s body was taken away. Spencer’s head dropped, chin resting against her chest, as she felt both overwhelmed and empty. Lost in her thoughts, she almost didn’t notice the two new figures walking towards her. Spencer’s head shot up sharply, as she squinted in a frantic attempt to figure out who was there. She relaxed slightly as she recognized one of the figures as Hotch, but her muscles quickly tensed again upon realizing that the second person was a paramedic.

“No,” she said weakly, without indicating what she was refusing. However, Hotch understood.

“You need to get checked out Spencer. I, uh, I roughed you up quite a bit, and you got hit in the head pretty hard.” His voice was caring, but still held authority. Uncharacteristically, he tripped over his words a little bit, indicating that he was more shaken by the incident than his stern visage suggested.

Spencer’s protests continued to remain ignored, as the medic started to ask her questions about her injuries. Hotch waited silently, his gaze never straying. Spencer knew that he didn’t have to wait there with her, in fact, he usually wouldn’t have, but she appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

She was unable to stifle the pained gasp that escaped her lips as the medic’s fingers probed her stomach, the pain to sharp to ignore. Hotch’s stare sharpened, if that was even possible, and he slid his hand into hers to grip, still not saying a word. She squeezed his hand as the examination continued, biting her lip to keep from crying out again.

“Alright, so it seems like you might have a minor concussion, but it doesn’t look like anything to worry about. The bruising and swelling around the cut on your forehead should calm down with some ice and time. I’m more concerned about your ribs. Although all your organs feel fine, and I’m not worried about internal bleeding, your ribs are really bruised, and I’m fairly certain that a few might be fractured. That can’t be confirmed without an x-ray, but the treatment would be the same regardless…”

Spencer tuned out after hearing the basics of her prognosis, she had read her fair share of medical texts, and couldn’t find it in herself to listen to the rest. She was startled out of her reverie by the feeling of Hotch placing a hand on her shoulder, she hadn’t even noticed the paramedic leave.

“Hey, you all right?”

Hotch could tell that she had been spacing out. They both knew that he wasn’t asking about how she was physically, but she just quietly replied. “Yeah.”

Hotch tried to lighten the mood, at least a little bit. “Nice shot,” he said wryly.

Spencer played along, “I was aiming for his leg.” Both of them knew that was a lie, but neither wanted to call her on it. A small smile found it’s way onto her lips as she looked up at her unit chief.

“I wouldn’t have kept kicking,” Hotch broke eye contact, and looked down more sullenly, “but I was afraid you didn’t get my plans.” He felt the need to explain his earlier actions, to explain that he didn’t want to cause her any pain.

Spencer replied, “I got your plan the minute you moved the hostages out of my line of fire.” She tried to make her voice stronger, forcing herself to make eye contact with him as she spoke.

“Well, I hope I didn’t hurt you too badly.” He had hurt her, they had heard the paramedic confirm it, but this was his way of apologizing to her while they were still in the field.

“Hotch, I was a twelve-year-old child prodigy in a Las Vegas public high school, you kick like a nine-year-old girl.” She chuckled lightly at the end. Again, they both knew that her statement wasn’t true, but they didn’t want to sacrifice the ease that this conversation brought them.

Hotch actually smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. It was such a rare sight that Spencer was momentarily stunned. An unbidden thought popped into her head; he was so handsome when he smiled. Spencer’s pale cheeks flushed as soon as she realized what she was thinking. She shook her head slightly, trying to clear it and dismiss her silly thought as a reaction to the surprise of seeing her usually stoic boss smile. Of course, she knew logically that the members of her team were conventionally quite attractive, but she had never really reacted to that attractiveness emotionally. She blamed it on the emotional stress of the day, but still, Hotch’s smile took her breath away.

She was still holding his left hand, and he was still lightly grasping her shoulder with his right. In the corner of her mind, she observed that the warmth was nice, grounding. In contrast, her other hand was holding something cold. Spencer jumped, as she finally noticed that she was still holding Hotch’s gun.

As she started to give it back to him, he understood what caused her sudden movement. “No, keep it,” he said patting her shoulder lightly, “as far as I’m concerned, you passed your qualification.”

Spencer stared down at the gun, and then tilted her head to look up at him, her eyes wide and swirling with emotion. In that moment, Hotch was struck by the confusion and stress he saw in her. It didn’t take a profiler to tell that Spencer was decidedly not ok.

Traitorous tears began to pool in her eyes once more, and she pulled her hand away from his to swipe at them, internally cursing her inability to control herself. She briefly mourned the loss of warmth that came with the loss of contact, but the thought was gone before she had the time to unpack it further. Goodness, here she was, an adult, an FBI agent, a holder of three doctorates, and all she could do was cry, just like she had uselessly cried in the hospital.

“Reid, it’s ok,” Hotch said quietly.

He wanted to tell her that he understood what she was feeling, that he knew how helpless she felt. He wanted to let her know that she was anything but helpless, with that brain of hers, and that she was fully capable of defending herself. But, he also wanted to tell her that it was ok if she sometimes couldn’t defend herself, and that he and the team were more than willing to help and protect her. He wanted to express all that, but somehow, they both understood what he wanted to say, and why he couldn’t say it.

Time passed, neither of them knew how much, but Reid calmed down, and Hotch could tell that people were looking for him. They looked at each other and Reid nodded her head in unspoken confirmation. He stood and hurried off, knowing that if he didn’t show up soon, things would start getting even more chaotic than they already were.

Moments later, Spencer stood and attempted to fix her appearance as much as possible before leaving the relative seclusion of the back of the ambulance. Moving slowly, trying her best not to further jostle her almost certainly fractured ribs, she tried to straighten her wrinkled shirt and pants. She frowned slightly at the blood staining her shirt, it had come from the cut on her head, and was going to pain to try to wash out. Spencer was then about to tie her unruly hair back, only to wince when raising her arms lead to a bolt of pain shooting through her torso.

She walked deliberately towards her team, avoiding the majority of the external commotion. All she wanted was to get home with as little fuss as possible, although that would probably prove to be quite difficult. When the adrenaline and the nerves wore off, she knew that she would be dead tired after the sleepless nights she had spent working the case and the exertion of the hospital confrontation.

Steeling herself, she tried not to let her inner turmoil play out across her face. A master poker player she was not, but years of living in Vegas and FBI training helped her control her expressions to some extent. As she walked, Morgan was the first one to notice her.

“Reid, you all right?” He called out, Spencer cringing slightly as his loud question alerted everyone in the vicinity to her presence. She could see the concern in his expression and wanted more than anything to reassure him that she was fine, if only to avoid more coddling and condescension from people in the future. But, something was stopping her from saying it out loud.

Suddenly, a thought struck her, and she reached into her pocket. Pulling out the whistle Morgan had jokingly given to her earlier, she swiftly tossed it to him with a small smile on her face. He caught it with a surprised grin, understanding that this was her nonverbal way of saying that she was ok to him.

Later, after they had tied up the loose ends at the hospital and precinct office, they were finally on the plane home. It was dark, and everyone was tired, so the cabin was quiet. Spencer was also tired, and wanted so badly to just slip into blissful unconsciousness, but something was holding her back.

Gideon was watching her and stood, a signal that she recognized as a sign for her to go talk to him.

“How you doin’?”

Immediately, some of the tension left her body. This was Gideon, her mentor, though perhaps he was more than that to her. She and Gideon had a special relationship within the BAU, one that ran deeper than that between mentor and protégé. It was evident to all that looked that Gideon was almost like a father to the young genius, but nobody ever mentioned it.

“You were right,” she began, because of course, he was always right, “you don’t need a gun to kill somebody.” Her voice wavered slightly as she spoke.

“No, you don’t,” he agreed.

“But it helps,” she added. She had needed that help while facing Dowd, because she wasn’t good enough. Profilers like Gideon could do the job without firing a shot, yet she wasn’t good enough, wasn’t smart enough, to use the profile as the weapon it was.

“Yes,” he easily agreed with her, wanting to get a better reading of what specifically was bothering her before adding on.

They stood in silence for a minute, while Spencer searched for the right way to ask what she wanted to. Finally, she spoke, stuttering and unsure, “I- I know I should feel bad about... what happened. I mean... I killed a man. You know, I- I should...feel something. But I don't.”

She just wanted to know what was wrong with her. Was she just as bad as the psychopaths that they locked up? Or was it something to do with her mom’s schizophrenia that was manifesting strangely? Spencer’s brain, she believed, was her greatest asset, but it was also the source of her greatest fears.

A look of comprehension flashed in Gideon’s eyes as he figured out what she was so stressed about. “Well, knowing what you're feeling, that's not the same as not feeling. This is gonna hurt you, and when it does, there are only 3 facts you need to know.” He spoke camly and methodically, pausing to make eye contact with her and to ensure that she was listening. He would do whatever he could to help her get through this without losing herself in the process, and these words were his way of doing so.

“You did what you had to do, and a lot of good people are alive because of what you did.” He stopped after this, waiting for her to process these two powerful facts.

“What’s the third?” She asked when she had finished mulling over the first part of his statement. She looked to him almost like a sad puppy, eyes wide and begging for comfort.

“I’m proud of you.”

It was a testament to her composure, Spencer thought, that she didn’t start sobbing again right then and there. Gideon was proud of her, and that was good enough to ease her mind for a bit. They both sat back down, this time next to each other, and the rest of the flight passed in silence.

It was about one in the morning when they landed in D.C., and they all just wanted to get home. As they prepared to disembark, Hotch told them not to bother going into the office to start paperwork, they needed to go home and rest after the tough case.

Reid gathered her things, biting her lip to try to keep from making noise at the pain that swinging her bags over her shoulder caused. Of course, she should have known that the small sharp inhale that she took instead wouldn’t go unnoticed. She supposed it was a blessing that most of her team was too tired to pay attention to her, but Hotch, ever alert, picked up on her discomfort. He exchanged a brief glance with Gideon, who also saw Spencer struggling, and quietly went over to her.

They were the only ones on the plane now, so Spencer wasn’t as worried about everyone else seeing what she perceived to be weakness. Hotch looked at her and gestured towards her bags, “let me.”

Spencer opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off, “I know that you are capable of carrying the bags yourself, but I also know that you’re in pain, and it’s ok to ask for help. Neither myself, nor the rest of the team would think any less of you for admitting that you are hurt.”

Spencer sighed and handed over her things, too tired to resist. As they got off the plane, Hotch was about to make his way over to the parking lot, when he noticed Spencer going a different direction.

“Where are you going?”

“I took the metro to work the day we left, so my car isn’t in the lot. I’ll just take the subway back home.”

Hotch shook his head. “Absolutely not. I am not going to let you take public transport at one in the morning by yourself when you’re exhausted and injured. I’ll drive you home.”

Spencer was surprised. She had never gotten a ride home from Hotch and didn’t even consider that he would care that she was taking the subway. She was getting ready to argue with him, but stopped when she saw that he was being serious.

They walked to his car in silence, and they left quickly. As Hotch was driving, she finally whispered a quiet, “thank you.”

Careful to still pay attention to the road, he quickly looked at her. “I told you, we’re here to help you, and I couldn’t let you take the subway alone in your condition.”

“Still, thank you. You’ve been… so understanding today, and just… thank you.”

“It really isn’t a problem Reid, trust me. Is this it?”

She nodded, and he pulled up to her apartment. His statement would have seemed callous or dismissive had anyone else said it, but the warmth in his eyes and the softening of his usually stoic stare betrayed the true meaning behind his words. They said their goodbyes as he helped her get her things to the door. She thanked Hotch one last time before he left, and then set her things down on the floor. Laundry could wait until tomorrow she supposed, as a fresh wave of exhaustion washed over her.

Spencer quickly got ready for a shower to soothe her aching muscles and wash away as much as she could of that horrible day. That was one of the worst parts of her eidetic memory. She couldn’t forget what she saw, even if she wanted to. She stood under the water for a while, keeping it hot enough that it hurt. Spencer scrubbed at her skin harshly, the water burning her sensitive skin, trying to distract herself from thinking about everything.

After her shower, Spencer wrapped her wet hair into a loose braid, threw on an old Caltech hoodie and some sweats, and fell into her bed. She was lucky, she thought, that she was so tired, because maybe she would be able to fall asleep tonight. And fall asleep she did, although her sleep was not as restful as it could have been.

Her dreams were filled with the sound of gunshots and hospital alarms, of Hotch standing over her while he kicked her stomach and telling her that he hated having her around, of the rest of the team taunting her for not being good enough, for not passing her gun qualification. She would startle awake every few hours, and force herself to close her eyes again, because she had work tomorrow and didn’t want to give them any more reasons to believe that she was incapable.

The logical and emotional parts of her brain were at war again. She was so worried that they thought that she wasn’t good enough, that the words that Hotch had so hatefully spit out were what they really thought of her. Logically, she knew that she had proved herself on multiple occasions. But, she still felt like she could never shake their perception of her a wet-behind-the-ears rookie, even after Elle joined after her.

Around six, she finally gave up on trying to sleep for more than an hour without waking up, and decided to just get ready early. She took her time, twisting her still damp, thick hair into a low bun. If anything, her ribs were even more tender, and new aches and bruises had popped up overnight. As she changed into a work outfit, she noticed the bruising on her ribs. Her entire torso was a motley of purple, blue, and yellow splotches, all extremely tender to the touch.

She swallowed two Aspirins with a cup of coffee, and grabbed her satchel, making sure that all her notes and files were in there. Spencer was careful not to wear it on her shoulder, knowing that it would put pressure on her ribs, so she settled for just gripping it in her hands. As she made her way out the door, she pushed up her glasses, already regretting her decision to forgo contacts in favor of resting her eyes which were still irritated from yesterday’s crying and her lack of sleep.

Spencer had decided to drive herself to work, no matter how much she disliked it, mainly because it would probably be less painful for her ribs than taking the cramped metro, where she was bound to get an elbow in the stomach or two. D.C. traffic was horrific, but her car was far more comfortable than a subway car.

She entered the bullpen at little bit after eight, and most of her coworkers weren’t there yet, but the light in Hotch’s office indicated that their ever-dedicated Unit Chief was already there. After dropping her things off at her desk, she decided to head over to the break room to already get her second, but certainly far from last coffee of the day.

She wasn’t the only one who wanted some caffeine it seemed, as Hotch was at the machine when she walked in. He lifted his head to look at her as she opened the door, and she noticed the dark circles under his eyes. Spencer couldn’t help but feel guilty, if he hadn’t driven her home last night, maybe he would have been able to get to sleep earlier. It didn’t help that she was still feeling anxiousness and panic regarding what had happened in the hospital. She struggled to meet his gaze, and she was automatically on edge. What if he was angry at her? What if he realized that the words he had said in the hospital were true, and that he wanted her off the team?

Her breathing quickened and her heart pounded, as she recognized that Hotch had likely noticed that something was wrong by now. She dug her nails into her palms to try to snap herself out of it. There was no way that she would allow herself to have a full blown panic attack in front of her boss, who probably already saw her as intolerably incompetent.

“Good morning Reid,” he said, his deep voice holding a hint of concern.

She managed to get her breathing under control, and fought hard to bring herself back to the present. Internally, she was chanting “focus” on repeat, in hopes of grounding herself. She would not allow herself to have an attack at work.

“Good morning sir,” she said quietly, after what felt like ages but was probably only seconds.

“Do you want a cup?” He asked, gesturing to the freshly brewed pot that he had just finished making. Spencer could tell that he was still concerned but assured herself that he would probably just brush her minor freak out as a side effect of her tiredness or a quirky Spencer-ism.

“Yes, please.”

She watched as he grabbed her a mug, her favorite mug, she noticed, and poured her a cup, leaving the perfect amount for her desired amount of cream and sugar. That was one benefit of working with profilers, she guessed. Spencer walked over to the counter to add her customary packets of sugar to her coffee, while Hotch poured himself a cup.

As she took her first sip, she closed her eyes at the pleasant warmth and familiar taste, inhaling the scent as a means to refocus her mind and calm herself.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” She suddenly heard from her left.

“A bit,” she answered.

“The bags under your eyes beg to differ,” Hotch replied.

“Says you,” she instinctually shot back at him. Her eyes widened as she realized what she had said, and to whom she had said it. Shoot, this was her boss. Her stoic, serious boss.

However, Hotch seemed to share none of her concerns, his face open and the hints of a smile on his lips. The team forgot that although he was serious, and played by the rules, he had a sense of humor.

“Fair,” he conceded, with a slight nod.

Reid took another swig of coffee, savoring it, because even though it was bad quality bureau coffee, it would beat the infinitely worse police station coffee any day. She reminded herself that at least she was home, Hotch didn’t seem too angry with her, although she couldn’t fully convince herself that he didn’t hate her, and that they had been able to stop Dowd before he hurt more people. Exhaling, she hoped that today would be better than the last couple of days, and that the team wouldn’t be upset with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, long time no see! Sorry for the delay, but I just didn't have any inspo for this chapter, and life has been sucky. Anyways, I know that this one wasn't great, but hopefully I can push something better out soon. Stay safe, and thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Slowly, the silence of the early morning was replaced by the hum of office chatter as more people started filing into work. Spencer was focused, reading through files and finishing up some reports from previous cases. However, she deliberately noted when one of the BAU members entered the bullpen, aware of how weak she must have appeared to them. She was also suddenly painfully aware of the dark bruise on her face, which spread up from her cheekbone to her forehead.

She kept her head down, acknowledging greetings with quiet responses. Spencer hoped that she might be able to get through the workday without too much more interaction, her conversation with Hotch that morning still fresh in her mind. All her hopes were dashed when Morgan walked over to her desk with a loud “Hey, how’s my Little Genius?”

Spencer flushed scarlet and replied quietly, “I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

Morgan must have heard something in her voice and let her be after that. But, she could hear him and Elle discussing quietly while she continued doing her paperwork. Garcia joined in on their conversation when she came up from her office to deliver some papers, and Spencer would have to have been blind not to notice how the three of them would occasionally look over at her.

Their concern might have been endearing, had it not caused Spencer to doubt herself even more. Nobody would have been this worried over any other member of the team. In Spencer’s mind, it was just more proof that she was seen as the weak link, and that they were questioning whether she was worthy of being on the team.

She allowed herself to sink further into the “work zone,” trying to keep her racing mind occupied. Thankfully, there were no new cases that required the entire team, so Spencer didn’t have to face the scrutiny that was inevitable when everyone was in the briefing room at once.

No matter how loathe she was to lean into the concern her team displayed, Spencer found herself searching for the comfort of Gideon in particular. He was her mentor, the reason that she was on the team in the first place, and the only one who seemed to really understand her. But, he hadn’t spoken to her since they were on the plane, and she didn’t want to worry him with something as petty as her own insecurity.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, as Spencer downed coffee like shots. She skipped lunch, her already meager appetite diminished by the growing pain she experienced as the painkillers she took in the morning wore off. She saw the files that Morgan and Elle slipped into her pile, but didn’t say anything and did them without complaint. They actually had lives that they wanted to get to, and what else was she good for besides efficiently completing paperwork anyways? Plus, consultations gave her a chance to polish her individual profiling skills, which she felt that she needed to work on more than ever after her failure to be of any valuable assistance to Hotch during their confrontation with Dowd.

By six, most people in the office were getting ready to leave. People said their goodbyes and discussed their evening plans while packing their things. Spencer briefly looked up from her work to watch Gideon leave without even so much as a look in her direction. Elle, Penelope, and JJ had also left, having decided that they desperately needed a Girls Night. JJ had invited Spencer, but she declined, citing exhaustion, and saying that she needed to do some work for the Philosophy degree she was pursuing to get out of it. Morgan stopped by her desk before he left to check in with her.

“Hey, Pretty Girl, you know that you can talk to me about anything?”

“Yeah…”

“No, really, I mean it. It’s ok to need to talk about things, and uh, I’m willing to listen.” Morgan spoke slightly unsurely, not used to this kind of more emotionally charged dialogue.

“Thanks Morgan. I’m ok, just really tired. I’ll see you tomorrow. Now go have fun!” Spencer just couldn’t handle emotions right now, and she knew that Morgan had some friends from SWAT that he was going out with so she didn’t want to keep him.

He left after that, reassured that Spencer was more or less doing ok, and that she was really just tired. He and the others had assumed that Gideon was talking to her and making sure that she was doing all right, even though they hadn’t seen anything of the sort. They knew both of them valued their privacy, so they let it be, not knowing the reality of the situation.

By eight, the only two sources of illumination were Spencer’s yellow desk light and the glow coming out from under the door in Hotch’s office. Spencer had finally finished all of her work, plus some of her other team members’ stuff, and had to go give it to Hotch so that he could sign off on some of it. She was mildly surprised, but not completely shocked to see that he was still there; she knew how demanding the Unit Chief job was, and how much he put into it.

She knocked lightly, and upon hearing a “Come in,” entered the office. She almost started speaking, but was startled when she noticed that Hotch was on the phone.

“I know, but I’ve got some stuff I need to take care of here.” He sounded slightly agitated, and looked disheveled, something she wasn’t used to seeing.

“When a member of my team needs me, I’m not going to abandon them. We talked about this when I took the job. I’ll see you when I get home. I love you, bye.” He had been talking to Haley then, and obviously it had something to do with her. She was even causing problems within her boss’s family; how useless and horrible could she be?

“Hotch, I’m so sorry— ” Spencer started, but he cut her off before she could go further.

“I wouldn’t have told you to come in if you were interrupting something. I wanted to talk to you anyways. Please, have a seat.” He ran a hand through his hair as he sat down, and she noticed that he had discarded his blazer and rolled up his sleeves.

Spencer sat automatically, unsure where this was going. She awkwardly held out the files she had brought with her.

“Oh, just put them over there, if you did them, I’m sure they’re fine.” He said as he gestured to an empty corner of his desk.

“Excuse me, but, um, what did you want to talk to me about? I know that I’m probably going to be suspended from the field, so if that’s it, just tell me,” Spencer blurted out, unwilling to prolong this for longer than necessary. She figured that she was going to be put on probation because of her performance during the last case, and just wanted to get the formalities over with so that she wouldn’t have the opportunity to take up even more of Hotch’s precious time with her stupid issues.

“No, that’s not it at all. Is that seriously what you thought was going to happen?” Hotch actually seemed genuinely surprised to hear her say that. Spencer was just confused, she couldn’t think of any reason that Hotch would want to talk to her, unless it was to reprimand her.

“I mean, I assumed… based on how useless I was, I— ” Spencer couldn’t even put together a complete thought.

“Spencer, relax. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just wanted to make sure that you were doing ok. You don’t look great, and I know that everything must be taking a toll on you right now. What do you need?” Hotch spoke gently, and Spencer had alarm bells going off in her head.

Was it that obvious? Spencer had done her best to hide that she wasn’t at the top of her game, but of course, in true Spencer fashion, she had screwed it up. And now, her boss was sitting here and babying her instead of going home to his wife, who was angry at him for staying at work for so long, which he was likely doing because of Spencer. It was not his job to make her feel better just because she was a baby who couldn’t handle her emotions.

“Reid?”

She hadn’t responded, had she? She didn’t know what to say, she had no reference for this sort of conversation. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do. She could say everything was fine, but he had obviously noticed that it wasn’t fine, and lying would just make him angrier at her. He was probably already angry with her. She still hadn’t responded, oh gosh, she couldn’t think.

“Reid!” Hotch repeated, louder this time. “Easy, breathe.”

_Easy. Easy. Easy. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. I can do that. I can— I can’t. Easy. Breathe._

Spencer tried to ground herself, to fend off the debilitating attack her mind was launching against her. “I— I, sorry, I’m, sorry, I don’t— ”

“Ok, Spencer, easy, easy.”

Hotch had walked around his desk and was next to Spencer now, she hadn’t even noticed him move.

“You need to know that none of what I said to Dowd is true. You are a valuable member of the team, a valuable member of my team. I, we want you here. You are smart, kind, capable, and have a unique ability to empathize. You are absolutely incredible, and I am continuously in awe of you. Please believe me when I say this.” He spoke with conviction, his voice thick with an indiscernible emotion.

Spencer’s brain was in overdrive. Usually, she was able to control herself in front of others, but she was so tired. It was just so hard. She tried to force herself to reply, to somehow minimize the inevitable damage that would come from this confrontation. However, she was drawing a blank. Her mind was completely and utterly empty. To her utter humiliation and disgust, she noticed a burning in her eyes.

_Crying is what got you here in the first place. If you could do something besides cry, like a weak little girl, maybe you could’ve done something useful. Stop it. Stop it!_

“Spencer, you don’t believe a word of what I’m saying, do you?” Hotch asked, not really expecting her to answer. He spoke quietly and sounded almost pained.

_Look, now you’ve made him upset. Do something, anything! You don’t have any reference for a situation like this. Think, think, do something._

“H-hotch, I’m, s-so sorry,” she managed to get out.

“You don’t need to apologize. Why do you feel like you always need to apologize? You’ve done nothing wrong Spencer. Nothing. I need you to believe that.”

“S-sorry, I can’t, I d-don’t know why.” Spencer immediately realized her mistake.

She was crying now, her vision blurring as she tried, unsuccessfully, to blink away the tears. Spencer made herself stand. She needed to get out of there, now, before she could embarrass herself further.

Hotch put a hand on her shoulder as started towards the door, startling her. “Spencer, we need to talk about this.”

Her hands were shaking, and her heart beat frantically in a way that made her chest hurt.

_Stop it._

She turned back towards Hotch, keeping her eyes trained on his shoes. They were nice, but not too nice, well-polished, and exactly what she would expect him to wear.

“Look at me. You don’t want to make eye contact because that means being even more vulnerable, and you’re afraid. Why? Spencer, why don’t you think you can trust us, why don’t you think you can trust me?”

Suddenly, his shoes started moving, as Hotch stepped closer to her, and used his hand to tilt her chin up towards him, forcing her to make eye contact

“I meant none of what I said to Dowd. I wish that there was another way for me to get us out of that situation. You are truly an incredible woman Reid.”

Spencer tried to look away, but Hotch’s hand kept her head firmly in place. “Please, don’t look away. It’s ok to need help. You are so young, and sometimes we forget that because you act so much older. But, you haven’t been doing this job for very long, and nobody expects you to be perfect at it. You killed someone, and you were in a very traumatic situation, and it’s hard to deal with alone. You don’t have to deal with it alone.” His brow was furrowed, eyes blazing with emotion.

Spencer had never been the best with emotion. She could recite statistics, rattle off the signs of certain moods, but interpreting emotion when it pertained to her was challenging. That was part of the reason that she pursued psychology, she wanted to learn to understand people.

She tried to look down again and swallowed hard when Hotch stopped her. “Please,” she said, voice thick with tears, “let me go.” Her voice broke, and she swallowed again.

“No. You don’t need to be afraid to be vulnerable with me Spencer. Never.”

Spencer let out a sob, unable to stop herself. She was so embarrassed, and so, so tired. Hotch removed his hand from her jaw, and shifted it to her lower back, guiding her towards the rarely used couch that he had in his office.

“This isn’t working. Sit down, please.” Something in the way he said that made Spencer want to do what he asked, if only to keep that tone from his voice. She sat down and took her glasses off, noticing how foggy they were from her tears. Hotch sat next to her, gently gripping her arm.

“Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Spencer wanted to pretend that it was all ok, that this was just a onetime thing, and that she would be better tomorrow. She knew the answers that she had to give, the way she had to nod, to convince most people. But this was Hotch, and she was so tired, and she just couldn’t.

“I-I don’t know. I can’t, I don’t know h-how to articulate it.”

Hotch looked at her, contemplative. “Spencer, why do you think I asked to talk to you when you came into my office?”

“You think that it’s your responsibility. And it’s keeping you from your family, which is your other responsibility. Shoot, I’m so sorry— ” Spencer let out another sob as she thought about it.

“God, Spencer, no, don’t apologize. I want to talk to you because I care, not because it’s my job. I care about you, you’re important to me. This is important to me.” His voice was filled with tender conviction. “Do you really think that you’re a bother?”

Spencer couldn’t answer the way she knew he wanted her to, so she buried her face in her hands, elbows digging into her thighs.

“Spencer, nobody here thinks that you’re annoying, and we don’t only care about you because you're intelligent. We like you, I like you, and you don’t have to try to prove yourself all the time. You belong here, I want you here.” His voice sounded pained. Spencer forced herself to look at him, his eyes were filled with understanding and sadness.

He moved his hand from her arm, and instead wrapped his arm around her, drawing her into a hug. Reid melted into it, too tired to resist the unnecessary physical contact as she usually would. Hotch smelled good, like clean clothes, coffee, and a subtle cologne, she noticed randomly, her exhausted mind incapable of filtering her thoughts. Her head was resting on his shoulder, and her hands involuntarily dropped her glasses on the couch in favor of gripping his shirt. His other arm wrapped around her and pulled her closer.

She lost track of how long they stayed like that, him holding her as she cried after his declaration. Reid felt safe in his warm embrace. But Hotch had a wife he needed to get to, a wife that was seemingly unhappy with his plans to take care of some random agent instead of coming home to her. Reluctantly, she forced herself to say something. “You need to get home.”

He sighed, and squeezed her harder for a second, before letting go. “You’re probably right. But, you’re more important than that right now.”

“I can get home ok, please, I don’t want to keep you any longer.” Spencer tried to force as much conviction into her voice as possible.

Hotch sighed again, and looked conflicted. “Thank you, thank you for trusting me enough to open up, even a little bit. I hope that you know that I truly mean everything I said. This isn’t the end of this conversation.”

She nodded, and they both stood, slightly awkwardly. Spencer made sure to grab her glasses. Hotch started packing his things, but gave Spencer one last look before she left to get her stuff, his eyes filled with another unknown, but intense emotion.

Spencer left after quickly grabbing her satchel and drove home in a daze. She fell into her bed as soon as she got there, barely bothering to kick off her shoes before succumbing to the pull of sleep.

Everything wasn’t alright, but it was better. For now, it was a little bit better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this one is a bit shorter than the previous chapter, but I'm feeling super burnt out. It's been really rough lately. Hopefully I can post more soon. Stay safe, and thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed! Stay safe out there everyone! :)


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